Next Door

Trying out this whole “ping back prompt thing”


It’s a snowed-in weekend 

& I wonder what our neighbors have on-hand. 

I wonder if they see us through snowy windows

or if they were able to catch their trains. 


Next door I am tired. 

I cannot speak well, but I’ll remember your name. 


I’ll hand over our homemade

chocolatechip-nod-to-Americana with a



and apologize over things

like my barking dogs and weedy mess of a garden

and that is how we chat here,

we who are so busy, tired,

glad to have moved in. 


We (meaning me) dreamt big, smoky barbecues,

grandiose Fourth of July fireworks 

with Classic Rock and Steely Dan,

and home made pita, sauerkraut, chips. 


Thought we’d be the hub, the lookout, the fort

with all the English books for your kids,

birdhouse libraries,

everything in miniature–

you know, to be cute,

even though

everything American 

is big.



One weekend I’ll escape the confines called “shy”,

“she’s got too much on her hands” or the biggest:

“language barrier”,

which needs no quotation marks around it. 

Let’s not be too formal. 


And yet, how I would love to still work my cosmetics and skin care

’round the neighborhood, fix my pearls 

and make dates to get to know you over tea and a little makeover. 

To practice knocking. And ringing. 

To see how you decorated & found something to put on our same funny wall. 


Maybe when all this snow melts,

I’ll go over

and see how you are.